


You're Beautiful, Doll

by mevious



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevious/pseuds/mevious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane Crocker succumbs to peer pressure and societal norms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Beautiful, Doll

"You're beautiful, doll," he insisted as his hand traveled up her shirt and squeezed at her breast. It was almost painful, how rough it felt, and it was awkward, how totally aroused he was, and how totally unaroused she was. "You're gorgeous, babe, and I'm gonna showv you."

She didn't want him to show her. Jane Crocker was a good girl, a girl who didn't want anything to do with guys like Cronus Ampora. No, no. She never wanted him, or his cigarettes, or his drugs or his motorcycle. And yet here she was, dolled up like she was Miss July in Cronus' calendar this year, keeping her lips zipped for want that the compliments never stop. Never. He thought she was beautiful, and as much as she didn't want him, she wanted those words. She wanted them bad.

And so she said nothing, kept her lips sealed up tight in a hard line that could have been a smile, had she still been sitting across from him in the diner and not shoved up against the brick wall on one side of an alleyway, concealed from the main drag only by a shitty green dumpster. Oh, how she regretted it. She regretted the red lipstick and the black eyeliner and the short skirt Roxy had insisted looked great on her. But here she was, and here she'd stay, here until he'd had his way with her.

She could feel it against her thigh, through the rough denim of his tight jeans. She could feel it creeping up, threatening the sanctity of her body. Threatening her safety. 

Had she giggled too much? Smiled too wide at all of his stupid pickup lines? What was it that she had done to deserve this? She may never know; all she did know was that the rough callouses of his fingers were running up the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thighs, and she was crying out incoherently. Whether for help or for want, it was a sound, a noise that only encouraged him in his present endeavor.

No more noises, she reasoned. Maybe if she'd stop making sounds he'd stop making advances. Maybe if she hadn't lead him on -- and oh, but his cock was already hard, she'd already let it go too far. No stopping it now. It had begun, and she had to see it through. At least, that's what Roxy had told her. It didn't feel right, but her friend, her best friend in all the world, had told her otherwise, that this was something she just had to do. It was her duty.

And so she kept quiet, the occasional whimper or gasp wrenching itself out of her terrified, butterfly-filled belly. Through every touch of his greasy lips on her neck she endured, every rub of his rough mechanic's fingers against her clit she withstood. She was a woman, and as a woman she had to do this. It was her duty. Her place. Her father would be proud. Roxy would be proud.

So why did she cry when the thick, blunt head of his cock pushed into her? Why did she have to choke back sobs? Sex was supposed to hurt sometimes, that much she knew, but this was a bit much, and she was sure, so fucking sure that she was not supposed to feel like she was ready to cry. She'd have to ask Roxy about that later.

"Shh, babydoll. It's okay, I promise. It'll all be ovwer soon." His crooning voice was hardly a comfort, and in fact it disgusted her a little, made her want to vomit all over the fresh white shirt he wore under his leather jacket. But no, she couldn't soil it, shouldn't soil it. She endured, she withstood, she braved the storm until it was all over. She couldn't even bring herself to ask if he'd remembered to put on the condom when he slumped into her, whispering sweet nothings into her ears. 

When she got home that night, she didn't even wave to Roxy. Didn't smile, didn't make eye contact. All she could do was go straight to the shower and sit in the corner, hot water burning her skin as she cried under the stream. Such was the fate of all womankind, and who was she to presume she was any exception?


End file.
